A Fine Joke
by The Eternal Guest
Summary: Vex sends Brynjolf on a simple burglary job, but no matter what it seems, theft is never a Breeze. Even if the home in question has been empty for five years. F!Dragonborn/Brynjolf, no spoilers apart from names if you've played over an hour of Skyrim. As of yet unbeta'd (it's my first story), though I have reread it over a dozen times, so there shouldn't be (m)any mistakes.
1. Chapter 1

_A Fine Joke_

Brynjolf stalks silently through the house, bagging and pocketing any valuables he comes across. He can't believe his luck. This place is a gold mine! He sees an ornament, a claw, covered in diamonds. He has to have it.

As soon as he grabs it, blue orbs light the room and reveal a lithe woman sitting on a chair in the corner. A Dunmeri woman. With a metal mask.  
The Dragonborn.

"Well, well, little thief." the voice comes out slightly distorted through the mask. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

The Dragonborn wears her trademark Dragonscale armour, visibly gleaming with magical enchantments, and of course the mask. A legendary Dragonpriest mask, artefacts enchanted by the Dragons themselves, by far the most powerfully enchanted objects in Skyrim, possibly Tamriel.

There are more powerful objects, of course, objects that are inherently magical, but these were once simple veins of iron in the ground, made what they are by the will of beings so powerful they were once revered as Gods.

Creatures that had been slain and defeated by the woman before him.

The woman who's house he was robbing.

"Oh... My lady I... I had no idea this was your house!" the shocked thief blurts.

The Dunmer ignores him. "I'd rather you left the claw here. I needed it to unlock a door on my way to Sovngarde, and I enjoy having it as a keepsake."

Brynjolf gulps. This was supposed to be a simple clearing job! But now he stood before the woman who defeated Alduin, fought her way through Alduin's army of Dragons, Draugr and Dragonpriests, in order to get to Sovngarde to defeat him forever! For Talos' sake, no one had lived in the house for five years! It was meant to belong to some thane who'd moved away!

"Tell me," she looks into his eyes, and seems to search his soul, "Brynjolf." 'How does she know my name?' Brynjolf panics, 'can she read my mind?'  
A chuckle from the woman only furthers his fears.

"Yes, I know who you are. Second in command of Riften's thieves' guild. Mercer Frey's trainee. One of the three who went to defeat Mercer. One of the three," she smirks, "Nightingales."

'How can she know? Nobody knew, nobody!' he thinks in shock.

"Hmm... Do you recognise my mask?" the Dragonborn asks rhetorically. Of course he does. Everyone knows of her masks.

"You should. You've sold no less than twenty three of them. Quite odd, since there are only thirteen, and they've only had two owners each. Hevnoraak, Konahrik, Krosis, Morokei, Nahkriin, Otar, Rahgot, Volsung, Ahzidal, Dukaan, Miraak, Zahkriisos... And me. And I have them all at this time. So where did these twenty three others come from?" Brynjolf only seems more uncomfortable as he was reminded of the achievements of the woman he was robbing.

"I had some masks made and enchanted... They weren't anywhere near as strong as the originals, but the buyers didn't know that." the thief sounds almost ashamed.

"One more thing Brynjolf." the woman says. Her voice is clearer now, the mask removed. Brynjolf still looks at his feet. "Don't trust Vex as much."

He recognises the voice and his head snaps up so fast it sounds like his neck breaks. "Tirith? For Nocturnal's sake, I almost shat myself! I thought I'd tried to rob the Dragonborn! Where did you get that mask anyway? Looks far better than my fakes."

"Oh Brynjolf... This is my 'coming out' so to speak. This looks better than your fakes because this is Volsung's mask, and I pried it from his corpse." The leader of the Thieves' Guild says.

"But that was the Dragonborn! She defeated the priests!" the thief argues.

"Aye, and you did try to rob the Dragonborn." she said, standing up and walking to the window. "Do you know what this house is? This is Breezehome. I bought it a few days after arriving in Skyrim. Hours after killing my first Dragon."

"You shouldn't joke about that sort of thing, Tirith, the Dragonborn saved everyone." the second-in-command warns.

"Yol." the Dragonborn whispers, and a flame bursts from her mouth and lights the fireplace.  
"I do not joke Brynjolf. I am Dovahkiin, Thane of the nine holds and Harbinger of the Companions, who saved Solstheim. I would rather you stop calling me a liar." she says quietly, a threatening edge entering her voice.

Brynjolf stares at her, a light of understanding entering his eyes. "You're serious... My lady." he adds hurriedly.  
"Oh for the love of Talos... Don't you dare call me 'my lady' or you'll find out exactly what the Thu'um can do." she warns him exasperatedly.  
"Yes my... I mean yes Tirith." he says dubiously, as though expecting she'd demand respect.  
"I didn't tell you this because I wanted you to treat me differently." the Dragonborn said, rolling her eyes.  
"Why did you tell me then?" Brynjolf questions.

"Because I want you to answer my question honestly, and you can't do that without all the information about me." she says, pulling at her necklace, trying to remove it from her armour.

"What questi- oh... Do you mean you..." he trails off, not sure if the amulet means what he hopes it means, what he desperately wants it to mean.  
"Yes, I do mean that." the Thieves' Guild leader says softly. "Will you?" follows uncertainly, but hopefully.  
"By the Nine yes!" Brynjolf shouts, ecstatic.

And Tirith rips the necklace from her throat, throwing it on the ground and hugging her Second-in-Command.

They leave Whiterun the next day, the amulet forgotten in Breezehome.

The Amulet of Mara.


	2. The Wedding

"So, what's our wedding going to look like?" Brynjolf asks as they arrive in Riften, still feeling slightly giddy about the prospect of marrying Tirith, but he is distracted when she tugs him past the entrance to the Cistern.  
"Wait, where are we going?" he asks her.  
"My house here, Honeyside." she says.  
"But that place has been abandoned for... five... years." he says, the truth dawning on him.  
"Just like Breezehome. I left all that behind when I joined the Thieves' Guild. It's quite easy to hide when nobody knows your face." she unlocks the door and lets them in, but immediately starts coughing when five years worth of accumulated dust seems to assault her nostrils.

"Shun." she Shouts, Clean. The Greybeards truly did know a lot of Shouts.  
Brynjolf is momentarily shocked at this casual use of the Thu'um, but he shakes his head, thinking it's just something he'll need to get used to.  
"So as I was saying, what's our wedding going to look like?"  
"Well, first of all, who do you want to invite?" Tirith replies.

"Well, all of the Guild, obviously, Vekel and Tonilia, Karliah, if she'll come. That's about it, isn't it?" he says.  
Oh, how naive he was.  
"Well, if I'm coming out as the Dragonborn, we'll have to invite some others too." Tirith replies hesitantly.  
"Who?" he says, an inexplicable sense of doom grasping him.

"My Housecarls, the Jarls of Whiterun, Riften, Solitude, Morthal and Markarth, probably their stewards as well, the people I've helped personally along the way, and do you think the Greybeards'll come? And-"  
"Hold on, lass!" Brynjolf interrupts, "How do you even know all these people?"  
"I'm a thane in the jarls' holds, they hardly go anywhere without their stewards, my Housecarls have probably been waiting impatiently for me to come out of hiding, the Greybeards taught me a lot of what I know about the Voice, and a lot of the people I helped I'm still writing on occasion."  
"So that's what all those mysterious letters were about!" Brynjolf exclaimed.

The Letters of the Guildmaster have been such an object of mystery that they had, in the minds of the Guildmembers both new and old, achieved Capitalisation. Nobody was quite sure who they were for, though suspicions ranged from letters to the most important people in Tamriel, coordinating heists and whatnot, to bribing officials, to simply sending letters to family in Morrowind. Well, nobody was sure until now, that is.

"But anyhow, we'll need to invite Ysolda, Adrienne and Carlotta, Carlotta will probably bring her daughter, from Whiterun. From Solitude only Rikke... Oh, that reminds me, we'll have to invite Tullius, he won't be able to come, but he'll appreciate the gesture. Endon and his family from Markarth, Falion from Morthal, and Serana; she's a vampire, but she's nice, Isgran from the Dawnguard and Frea of the Skaal, on Solstheim." she ticks them off on her fingers.

"By the nine..." mutters Brynjolf.  
"I hate to say it, but that amount of people won't fit in the temple."  
"Hmm..." Tirith thinks it over, "Maybe we can rent the marketplace for the day? I'm the thane, I can probably do that, right?"

"That'll cost a fortune!" Brynjolf exclaims.

"Oh, my husband-to-be, you saw what I had lying about in Breezehome, and that was just one of my homes, and not even the one with my armoury in it! I've been living off my job with the Thieves' Guild, all the money I've earned and things I've found dungeon delving are, mostly, in Windstad manor. I only moved the claw to Breezehome because I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. I can afford most any price Laila might ask." says Tirith as she falls into a chair.

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten about the whole... Dragonborn thing."  
"Dragomborn Thing? You make it sound like a disease!" laughs Tirith, "It's just a useful power, really. A different way of doing Magic. But anyway, what do you think of it? Renting the marketplace, I mean."  
"If the money really isn't an issue-" "-it isn't-" "then I can't see any other way of doing it and inviting everyone." he says, half-heartedly glaring at her for interrupting him.  
"So, do we go tell everyone?" Brynjolf then asks.  
"I want to have some fun with Vex first." Tirith grins maliciously. Brynjolf agrees happily, even if he liked the resume, Vex still set him up.

She enters the Ragged Flagon, through the Ratway. While unpleasant, it's not particularly challenging and it's an almost sure-fire way to make sure she meets Vex first.  
"Vex? Can you come with me? I need to... I need to speak with you." she says, making her voice crack halfway through.  
"Sure, what is it?" Vex's harsh words are tempered by an out-of-character softness on seeing the state her friend seemed to be in.

"Brynjolf. He... He didn't like the surprise as much as I'd hoped." the Dragonborn said, tugging at her collar, seemingly inadvertently displaying the lack of the Amulet of Mara she had so proudly shown Vex earlier.  
"How do you- oh, your amulet... I'm so sorry." Vex says softly.  
"He didn't like that I'd been keeping secrets from him, from the Guild. Said he couldn't trust me." Tirith almost sobs.  
"What secret could be that bad?" Vex asks curiously, but not unsympathetically.

And, as she had in Breezehome just the night before, Tirith Shouts "Yol" to light a candle, surprising Vex greatly.  
"I'm the Dragonborn."  
"But... Oh my Gods how... You poor girl."  
"And do you know what the worst thing is?" sniffs Tirith.  
"No, what?" "All the people I helped as Dragonborn... Won't fit in the temple. We're going to have to rent the marketplace for the wedding." and suddenly, as if by magic, Tirith cheers up completely. Brynjolf, who had been sneaking behind them in his Nightingale armour, stood up and embraced her from behind, smiling at Vex. "That's why you shouldn't trick me, lass."

The look on Vex's face. Confusion first, then understanding. And then anger. "What the hell Tirith?" she raged, "I help you get together with the man of your dreams and you do this? Never helping you again!"

"Is she really mad?" Tirith asks Brynjolf. "Nah," he replies, "she'll see how funny it was in a few days."  
Tirith looks at him disbelievingly.  
"Weeks. Okay then, maybe a month or two." Brynjolf hastily corrects.

"So, do you want to tell the rest, or will I?" Brynjolf then asks. "I'd prefer to do it. Get the whole 'Dragonborn Thing' as you call it out of the way too."  
"Alright then lass, go ahead."  
A minute or two after Vex left the room, the others followed.  
"Everyone to the Cistern. You too, Vekel and Tonilia. I have some things to tell you."

Everyone having arrived in the Cistern, Tirith begins.  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, and Vipir I suppose." draws a few chuckles, "I have a very important announcement to make. I have been keeping a secret from all of you, and I think it's time I let you all in on it."  
Rather than chuckles, this draws mutters of confusion and a glare from Vex.  
"It's nothing that truly effects the Guild, don't worry. It's part of my past, from before I joined the Guild almost five years ago. You see, I have not told any of you who I used to be, and still am to some extent."  
Curious visages stare back at her from the crowd. "Get on with it!" shouts Cynric.  
"Alright then Cynric," she says, "I am," she pauses, "The Dragonborn."

Whatever people were expecting, that wasn't it. The most noble and powerful of warriors, become a thief? Impossible. "Good one, girl, now can we get back to work?" says Etienne patronisingly.

"Already forgotten me, Etienne? After I got you out of the Embassy?" "But nobody knew about that-" "-Except for you, Malborn, that was the Bosmer's name, and me."  
Softly using the Throw Voice Shout, she continues, sounding as though she stood at four points in the room.

"Unbelievable though it may seem, I am the Dragonborn, thane of five holds. I do not expect any of you to treat me differently," here she is interrupted by disbelieving muttering.

"NAHLOT!" she Shouts. Silence.

In the deathly silence that follows, her voice sounds all the louder, "I tell you this, for it affects my, in my opinion far more important, announcement." she nods towards Brynjolf.  
"Brynjolf and I," she says, "Are to be married."

The crowd attempts to react, but the Silence holds.  
"Genul!" Shouts the Dragonborn, cancelling her earlier Shout. She is immediately overrun with congratulations and questions, but she ignores them, instead continuing, "Yes, yes, thank you all. The date is yet to be determined, as I must still notify the people-" "-all the many, many people-" "-quiet Bryn. That will be invited. You are all, of course invited. Though I'd rather you didn't mention my being part of the Thieves' Guild; it won't do well for my noble reputation, and it might be more useful to have someone high up who isn't known to associate with the Guild."

Delvin almost faints at the idea of having a thane, and the Dragonborn to boot, to open doors for the guild.  
Vex is still glaring.

The day has come.  
The marketplace and surrounding area is packed full of the invited and their families, Keerava's doing better business than ever before and there is as much food as could be eaten.  
Everyone is in good spirits, the groom is anxiously awaiting his wife-to-be, and nothing could possibly ruin this day.

"We have a warrant for the arrest and detainment of one Tirith Lioren!"

Except for the Thalmor, of course. They can ruin anything.

"Whatever for, may I ask?" Brynjolf says, deceptively calm.  
"Breaking and entering into the Thalmor embassy, murdering countless Thalmor officials, including the second-in-command here in Skyrim, Rulindil, and aiding and abetting known fugitives, Blades." says the lead Justiciar, a high elf in dark robes, with a tone displaying the smug superiority the Thalmor believed was theirs.

"I fear we have a problem then." Brynjolf says, his voice steely. "And what may that be?" mocks the Thalmor.  
"This is her wedding. And I do not believe you were invited."

After he says this, the two soldiers with the Justiciar draw their swords, ready to attack. The Justiciar himself readies shock spells in his hand. "We'll see about that!"

Unfortunately, they had forgotten that there were many, many people present. Which included no less than four Jarls. All of whom had brought Housecarls and guards. The three Thalmor float out of Riften soon after that, and the bride appears.

Beauty beyond compare, she was, in Brynjolf's mind. A gown of silver contrasting beautifully with her dark skin, a circlet of gold with clear diamonds resting upon her head. As she strides forward, escorted by Jarl Baalgruf, it seems that even the birds fall silent in admiration.

"Anything happen?" she asks Brynjolf in a whisper, when she is near. "Nothing important." he whispers back.

The ceremony is as any other wedding in Skyrim, the priest saying the customary words and the bride and groom giving the traditional vows. But this is the Dragonborn's wedding. It wouldn't be the same without a dragon.

Paarthunax lands on a nearby house, his soft landing belying his size. As all the guests ready weapons they have or cower, the Dragonborn raises her voice, "Calm! This Dragon is no enemy!" she says.

"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin. It gives me pleasure to see you again." he rumbles.  
"Drem Yol Lok, Paarthunax. I am glad to see you as well. What brings you here?"  
"The Greybeards informed me of the Gron, the binding you were celebrating. While they may not wish to leave High Hrothgar, it does me good to leave my Strunmah for once."

"I am happy to see you once more, you are welcome here." Brynjolf raises his eyebrows at this, but doesn't interrupt.

"I do not come only for Tinvaak, Dovahkiin, I will grant you the Dov's blessing, if you will have it." Paarthunax says.

"What do you think Bryn?" she asks her new husband. "I don't know much about Dragons. Will it hurt anyone?"

"No, Jor, it will not."  
"Jor?" he asks Paarthunax, wondering whether he's been insulted. "Mortal."  
"Then go ahead, by all means."

"Zu'u kog gron, ko faan do Bormah, aal nii laat lingrah ahrk drun mul wah grin." he Shouts, and flies away.

"I bless this binding, in the name of Akatosh, may it last long and being strength to the bonded." translates Tirith, when they arrive at Honeyside.  
"You understand the language?" questions Brynjolf.  
"Of course dear, it's in my very heart, running through my veins!"  
"I hope there's room in there for me too." teases the newly wedded husband.  
"You've been there for over three years already." she says as the lie down in bed.

 **Author's note:** I wasn't actually planning on a follow-up, but after all the positive responses (2?3? not sure, but more than I had expected for my first fanfic) I decided to give it a shot.


	3. In Which Brynjolf Comes Along

**Pre-chapter Author's note:** Now, I was actually planning this as a one-shot, as I may have mentioned before, so the "no spoilers" promise is off now. This chapter contains spoilers for the Destroy the Dark Brotherhood Questline (which aren't very dramatic, it's basically killing the leader, going to Solitude to get some help with killing the rest, killing the rest, and being payed). Now, on to the chapter!

"I just don't see why _you_ have to do all of this stuff! Can't they do it themselves?" an exasperated Brynjolf asks, even as his wife of six months leaves Honeyside once more to help some miscellaneous inhabitant of Skyrim.  
"It's part of being the Dragonborn, Bryn, to these people I'm a hero; I can't just leave them."  
"We've been married for six months now, and I doubt you've been home for more than two of those!" Brynjolf then whinges, though he'd never put it that way.

Then, in the words that would set the scene for a tale of epic proportions, Tirith replies.

"Why not come with me then?"

"I don't really want to."

Or not, as the case may be.

"Come on, Bryn, maybe if you come with me you'll understand! You might even enjoy it, who knows?"  
"Lass, I'm a thief, not a hero. I'm not sure about this whole 'helping people' thing. I know you like it, and that's fine, but I'm just not convinced."  
And so the plan was shot down.

"You know, people you've helped tend to be very grateful, and grateful people tend to be generous with their money..." Tirith trails off.  
"When do we leave?" Brynjolf's attitude switches instantly.  
Tale of epic proportions, here we come.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"You know, in all your stories, you never mention this part." complains Brynjolf as they trek through the marshes north of Morthal. "I mean, does it have to be so... _marshy_?"  
"I don't mention that part because nobody likes to hear people complain about things that can't he changed." an annoyed Dragonborn drops a subtle warning sign.

"I mean, it would be fine if it wasn't raining all the time..." the warning sign is ignored.  
"LOK VAH KOR!" Shouts the Dragonborn.  
Brynjolf jumps back at the Shout, "Woah there, lass, bit o' warning next time? What was that Shout for?"

"I can't change the marshes, but I can change the rain." she says, gesturing up.

Where before the sky was hidden by grey clouds, almost as far as the eye could see, now a small circle of blue hovers above them, a break in the clouds. As Brynjolf looks on in amazement, the circle grows, until all that's left is a sunny blue sky.

"Forgotten about that..." he mutters.  
"What? 'The Dragonborn Thing'?" jokes Tirith, referring to his comments before the wedding.  
"You're never letting me forget that then?" he asks. The smirk she gives is enough of an answer.

Brynjolf is just about to say something else, but is forestalled by a roar, followed by the sound of something beating the ground with its fists. Something big.  
Brynjolf draws both his daggers, a deep ebony colour with the blood of a Daedroth running through them, while Tirith waits for the creature.  
A terrified Brynjolf tries to throw himself between the unarmed woman and the troll, but the Dragonborn pushes him to the side and conjures a battle-axe.

She blocks the furious swipes of the raging troll, before gripping the shaft (AN: I'll admit I chortled at that phrasing) of the weapon and bashing the beast in its face. While it's staggered, she changes her grip on the weapon and, with a double handed swing, hews off its right arm.

It backs away, but by now Brynjolf has recovered from the shock of seeing his wife almost die, and jumps after it. One of his daggers slams into the troll's shoulder, the shock enchantment causing its muscles to stiffen reflexively, preventing a counterattack, and his other dagger follows, the blade effortlessly piercing its thick hide and piercing its heart. The flame enchantment negates the troll's natural regeneration factor, and boils its blood inside it, killing it.

"See? This is why I worry about you! This is why I don't like you going out in the wilderness on your own!" he says, angry and exasperated, "And why are you laughing?"  
"Because," Tirith wipes tears of laughter out of her eyes, "I knew it was there already. You're acting like I would have died without you! It's arm was off already, I would have been fine!"

"Don't act tough on me lassie, I _know_ you can't have seen it! It was hidden in the bushes, out of sight."  
"I've spent years practically living out here, just heading back to towns to sell my stuff. I knew that troll was there, just as I know there's a frostbite spider behind that tree stump over there," she nods towards the remains of a massive tree, struck by lightning years ago, which cracked the bark and broke the tree off roughly around waist height, with the top part of the tree lying beside it, charred and blackened.

Not two seconds later, a spider scuttled out from behind it and was quickly killed by the two thieves.

"Alright then, so you _might_ have known about the troll, but that doesn't explain how. Is it some sort of Shout?" the second-in-command asks.  
"Not a Shout, though there is one for it. I'll show you." she says, "Listen."  
"To what?" he asks, but is shushed. "Don't ask, just listen. What do you hear."  
"Nothing." he says, sounding unconvinced. "No, you don't hear nothing, focus. What are the sounds around you."

"Well, there's water dripping down the plants into the swamp," he says, hearing the little drops from the rain just-passed trickling down leaves, "There's... There's wind going through the leaves, I think."  
"Come on, husband!" she chides him, "Shouldn't a master thief have stronger senses than this?"  
"I'm trying!" he snaps, "There's just nothing else there!"  
He's frustrated with the lack of progress, frustrated with the smell of the stagnant water, frustrated with that annoying scraping of leaves, frustrated with... Hold on, scraping of leaves?

"There's something crawling around, just over there," he says, gesturing forwards and to his right, "I don't know what it is though."  
"Ah, good! I was hoping you'd notice it, that's a Chaurus. It sounds like that because its underbelly scrapes along the ground while it walks, if you listen really well, you can even hear the little steps."  
"A Chaurus? What's that?" Brynjolf asks, not familiar with the term, as he opens his eyes.

"It's an insect, of sorts. About the size of a dog, sort of bluish-purple, the Falmer tame and breed them. It's got rather sharp mandibles at the sides of its mouth and has a really hard chitin around it." she says, as they climb to the top of the hill between them and it.  
"BY THE EVER-LOVING NINE WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT?" shouts Brynjolf.  
"A Chaurus." Tirith replies calmly.

"Did I mention it spat poison?" she says, just before it does so. "NO!" Brynjolf yelps as he jumps out of the way. "Well now you know. Anyway, the more you listen, the more you'll learn to recognise sounds." she says, casually talking as though she weren't avoiding sharp teeth dripping with poison.  
"Lesson time later, kill this... This THING now!" Brynjolf shouts.

"Alright then. Now, unless you have a warhammer, you'll have trouble doing much damage to its chitin, that stuff's harder than steel and blades tend to be deflected off it. Since we only have blades, we'll want to go for its joints, where the legs connect to the body, or where the head connects to the neck."  
Brynjolf attempts this, and fails miserably, losing both his daggers when the Chaurus turns and makes him leap back quickly.

"YOL TOR SHUUL!" Tirith Shouts, "Or I can just set it on fire. Works just as well."  
"Couldn't you have started with that?" Brynjolf pants as he grabs his daggers. "I could have, yeah, but I wondered how you'd deal with it." she smirks. "I'd rather you not do that in the future, lass."

Realising that he was truly annoyed, possibly angry, Tirith apologised. "I'm sorry, Bryn, I'm just not really used to travelling with companions. My last was... It must have been Frea."  
"Who was that then?"  
"A Skaal warrior, on Solstheim. She followed me for a while, when I was trying to defeat Miraak." she starts, and continues when she notices tension leaving her husband's shoulders at 'she', "Really? You worry about who I hung around with four years before I even met you?" she questions incredulously.

"Well... Ummm... We're here! That's the place isn't it!" he changes the subject. "Yes, it is." Tirith says as she checks her map, "Now, let's go in."  
"Locked up tighter than a drum." Brynjolf says, sounding surprised, "You don't often see locks like that on abandoned houses. This lock is new, one of the unpickable models. Any pick I put in here will break no matter how careful I am. Unless you still have the Skeleton Key?"

"I don't. And I'd rather you didn't think of me as a second Mercer!" Tirith exclaims, all mock-indignation.  
"I beg thine forgiveness my lady! Your humble servant begs your pardon!"  
"Well then, this once I shall grant you leeway." she says, before the pair dissolved into laughter.  
"But, how do we get in?" Brynjolf says, recovered, "It's still locked."

"Well... I could do this thing, but it might get rid of the element of surprise." Tirith starts hesitantly.  
"Do it. I'm not sure how much of a surprise advantage we can get in a one-roomed shack." Brynjolf replies quickly.  
"Alright then... FUS RO DAH!" she Shouts the door down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FLASHBACK~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, what do you need help with?" the Dragonborn asked, having arrived in Morthal.  
"Oh, my husband, my poor husband! He was taken! Grabbed in the night by red and black clad killers! I hired a hunter to track them down, and all they found was some abandoned shack they couldn't enter! Please, find him! I'll pay richly if you can bring my love back to me!" the distraught woman replied.

"We'll find him ma'am, don't worry!" said Brynjolf, his eyes having lit up at the mention of a rich reward.  
As soon as they left, he asked his wife who she thought the kidnappers might be.  
"Red and black clad killers, Bryn. Not much of a variation in who that could be. This has Brotherhood written all over it, no doubt." Brynjolf paled.  
"Now, the shack is over here, I've passed it before, so if we..." and so the two left Morthal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FLASHBACK END~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After bursting the door open, the two rush in. An odd sight meets them; three people, tied up and blindfolded, a woman in Brotherhood armour, and a boy, who didn't look a day over fifteen.  
Looking around, it's obvious who the biggest threat is.  
The boy.  
Or the woman. Probably the woman actually. Not sure why it would be the boy.

Tirith recognises the armour instantly; enough assassins had come after her for her to know their dress code, and anybody in that gear deserves to die in her books.  
She leaps forwards with her trademark sword, Dawnbreaker, granted to her by Meridia for defeating the necromancer Malkoran. While it's true power is in fighting undead, it would harm the living too, to a lesser extent. It has been gathering dust in her manor for years, it's glowing effect making it entirely unsuitable for stealth.

The blade sails through the air towards the woman, but the woman dodges, seemingly a cut above the assassins that had come after Tirith in the past.  
"What are _you_ doing here?" the assassin almost screeches, "How did you know I would be here?"

"I didn't. But one of them," she jerks her head towards the the three captives, "Has a very worried wife."  
Their conversation is interrupted by the panicked boy, "She's insane! She wants me to kill one of them!" he shouts.  
"Quiet!" snaps the assassin, before turning to Tirith, "You're that one that keeps killing my Brothers! Sithis will have your soul!" and she leaps at the Dragonborn, twin daggers raised.

Tirith blocks one dagger with her sword, and spins away from the other. Brynjolf, who had been quiet during the conversation, jumps at the assassin's back. Somehow, the assassin sees him, and sidesteps the blow. Now Brynjolf is vulnerable, being off balance from striking nothing but air, and the woman raises her daggers to strike back.

Suddenly she freezes. And catches fire, as Dawnbreaker emerges from her chest. "Sithis..." she groans, "take you." and she dies.  
Brynjolf, relieved, sheathes his daggers, but Tirith does not. Instead, she turns to the boy, sword raised.  
"What are you doing to the poor lad?" Brynjolf exclaims, "he's out of his mind with fear! Leave him be."  
"No." she says to Brynjolf, before focussing her attention on the boy.

"Who are you?" she demands, "and what did you do to get the Brotherhood's attention?"  
"I'm... I'm Hroar!" he stutters, and Brynjolf's head shoots up, "Hroar? How did you get caught up in this mess?"  
"Who are... Bryn? Is that you?" Hroar starts.  
"Yes lad, it's me. Now, why don't you tell us why the Dark Brotherhood of all things was interested in you."

"Well... Do you remember a few years back? Aventus Aretino trying to summon the Brotherhood?" the two nod, "Well, nobody came. One of the new girls was trying the same thing, but... But she didn't run to Windhelm. She was doing the Black Sacrement in the basement, the stupid girl!" he sounds frustrated, and visibly calms himself before continuing, "Grelod found out. I never saw little Madelin again after that. So I killed Grelod. I snuck into her room, and I stabbed her." he sounds as though he's expecting to be run through.

"Alright." is all Tirith says. "Alright?" the almost hysterical boy shouts, "ALRIGHT? I'm a murderer! I'm as bad as that woman! How is that alright?"  
"Murder is the purposeful killing of a human or elf by another human or elf. This Grelod doesn't sound very human to me. So you didn't murder anyone, you put down a rabid beast."

"That... That makes sense, I guess..."  
"Now, why don't you head back to Riften then, back to Honorhall. If Grelod's dead, then that lovely Constance lass is bound to be in charge." Brynjolf says soothingly.  
"She's nice... Alright, I'll go back." he says, and he leaves through the empty doorway.

"We'll have to watch that one," Tirith mutters. "Why? He seems like a nice kid."  
"He killed someone. I won't argue that the killing wasn't justifiable, but he still killed. There's a chance that he'll take it upon himself to kill lots of people who deserve it."

"Yes, yes, if those two would stop chattering and save this one, this one would not need to have them killed." a menacing Khajiit voice spoke up. It would be more menacing if he weren't bound and blindfolded.  
"And who might you be?" Tirith asks.  
"This one is called Ma'jando, and he is the greatest of thieves and bandits. If you do not release this one, he will have his allies hunt you down, and kill you. Slowly."

Tirith kills him.

"And who are you?" She asks the woman.  
"Someone who demands to be released! How dare you? I'm the wife of the most important ship's captain in Skyrim!" she releases him. Not for fear, but because she was, at most, unpleasant. Not something that deserves a death sentence.

"And you must be Fulthein." she says as she releases the Nordic man.  
"I am. Thank you so much for rescuing us!" he says quickly.  
"Your wife awaits you in the Morthal Inn, south-west of here. If you'll follow us, we'll take you there."

Having arrived in Morthal almost entirely unscathed, the three enter the inn.  
"Marid! We're back and we brought a friend!" Tirith shouts when they come in, to the delight of a woman sitting at the bar.  
"Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she says to the two, before jumping at her husband, "I was so worried." she says to him, softly, as he pats her back. "I missed you too." he says.

"Do we ask about money now?" Brynjolf whispers. "No! Let them have their moment. They'll remember us soon."

"Here. It's not nearly as much as what you gave me, but it's the most I can spare." she says, handing Tirith a small bag. Brynjolf looks to be about to argue, but Tirith drags him away, but not before thanking the woman and saying it was no problem.

"The nerve! She said richly rewarded! There can't be more than two hundred septims in there!" Brynjolf rages quietly.  
"You're assuming there are septims in there. If I'm guessing right..." she trails off, and shows him the bag's contents. Gemstones and jewelery, at least five thousand septims worth. The woman must have been either very grateful, very well-off, or both.

"So, let's go back to Riften then!" Brynjolf says happily.  
"We can't yet. I need to go to Solitude. That woman, Astrid, was the leader of the Brotherhood. And apparently, there's only one sanctuary left. And we know the passphrase. So if we go to Solitude, we can probably get some soldiers who will help us end the Brotherhood, for once and for all."

 **Author's Note:** Alright then, here's the next chap, as requested by _one_ person. Now, I understand not everyone reviewing, but really, one person out of the fifty that read the 'Continue or not' note took the time to review? Any suggestions you may have are welcome here too, not just story suggestions, but comments on my writing style (paragraph length, sentence length, amount of dialogue as compared to discription of area etc.) are all welcomed. I wouldn't even mind flames (though I'd appreciate some sort of reasoning behind why exactly it sucks, should that be the cave), or, as a charming guest did, nothing more than a smiley, which brought a smile to my face. It doesn't take more than thirty seconds, but it can brighten up my day greatly!

So, for the next chapter I'll be going after the Dark Brotherhood, with Maro's help of course! Any requests for anything after that are welcomed, as are suggestions for how to do the actual destroying the Dark Brotherhood (make Tirith a werewolf through some freak accident? A vampire while killing Babette? All is possible in the magical land of Fanfiction! Except for the Stormcloaks being right. That doesn't work.)

 **EDIT:** edited the flashback part, as a guest mentioned it looked like a time skip/teleportation glitch, in their words. Hadn't noticed the mistake myself, something went wrong in formatting it.


	4. In Solitude

The two arrive in Solitude, and Brynjolf starts towards the Blue Palace.  
"No, we need to stop by my place first." Tirith says, leading him to Proudspire Manor.  
"What do you need then?" he asks, having thought this was a rather straightforward case of asking the Jarl for a favour.

"Look at me Bryn, what do you see?" Tirith asks. "The most beautiful woman in Tamriel." he says straight away.  
"Not that, but thanks, what would, for example, a guard see?" "The-" "-And don't you dare say 'the most beautiful woman in Tamriel' again. I'm serious now."

Now Brynjolf pauses. He looks his wife up and down and answers, "A Dunmer, female, experienced warrior and mage, with some skill in sneaking around. Probably a treasure hunter or bodyguard, might be a mercenary though."  
They're in Proudspire manor now, and Brynjolf is distracted for a moment, as Tirith goes upstairs. "This place is beautiful. Must have cost quite a lot."  
From upstairs he hears some rumbling around, and a reply, "Twenty five thousand septims for the place, probably about ten thousand more to have it furnished."

"I'd love to rob this place..." he says admiringly, which is a pretty big compliment from a thief. "Because robbing my house worked so well last time, didn't it?" he can practically hear her smile.  
"It got us married, didn't it lass!"

As he studies a bookshelf, he hears the Dragonborn stepping down the stairs. For now she's not the thief anymore, but the Dragonborn. Dragonscales make up her armour, enchanted to grant almost full resistance to fire and frost, make her more enduring, and strengthen her arms so her strikes have more force. A force to harm Dragons.  
At her side hangs Dawnbreaker, its light shining brightly, and on her back is Spellbreaker, recognisably Dwemer, yet somehow... _more_.  
"And what would the guard see now? The distorted voice comes out."

Her face is covered with the iron mask of Volsung, a vision of horror, almost making him willing to give _it_ anything it wanted to make it go away. Only reminding himself of what lies behind the mask keeps him there. "The Dragonborn." he answers, for that is, undoubtably, who stands before him.

"Exactly. This will make getting in far more easy. It is common knowledge that the Dragonborn is Thane of Haafingar. It is not common knowledge that Tirith is either the Dragonborn, or a Thane. Elesif and Falk will know who I am, of course, since they were at the wedding, but a guard? He's more likely to let me in if I look like this." she gestures towards her armour.

Brynjolf just nods, and they leave to walk the short distance to the Blue Palace. A short distance it may have been, but word of the Dragonborn being back in town spread quickly and soon there were people milling around trying to catch a glimpse of the legend. Somehow, the two push their way through to the doors and enter as the guards keep the excited citizens out.

She bows before the queen, before addressing the court. "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I come before you on this day with information and a request for your aid! The Dark Brotherhood," here she pauses as people gasp, "has been found attempting to recruit here, in Skyrim! Luckily, my husband and I found out in time, managed to thwart the introduction of an unwilling boy into the Brotherhood, and kill the Dark Brotherhood's leader!"

Some people at the court applaud, though Brynjolf wonders why his wife is speaking as though they went out with the purpose of finding the Brotherhood, rather than that they were just after a kidnapped man and the Brotherhood being involved was a coincidence. He decides to ask her later, and instead focuses on what's going on now.

"I found, on the leader's body, a letter." at this, the room stills, "It states that the Brotherhood sanctuary from which she came, is the last sanctuary in Tamriel! It informed her that the Night Mother herself would be brought to her sanctuary for safekeeping! High Queen, what I would I request of you is soldiers to aid me in the final elimination of this blight on Tamriel!"

The court murmurs excitedly, and when Elesif rises to speak they fall silent.  
"I, on behalf of Tamriel, would like to thank you for this new addition to the long list of great deeds done for the good of us all, by you. Recently, the Emperor has announced a desire to be here for his cousin's wedding. The Penitus Oculatus, the Emperor's Guard, is already present in Skyrim. Should you speak to Commander Maro, you will likely find him glad to help you."

"I thank you, your grace." Tirith says respectfully. She bows respectfully and leaves with Brynjolf, heading back to Proudspire.

"By the Nine I'm glad that's over with." she sighs as soon as the door is shut and her mask is off.  
"Hmm? You don't like Jarl Elesif?" Brynjolf inquires, "I mean, sure, she seems a bit snobby, but she's the High Queen. She can hardly _not_ be snobby."  
"It's not that," Tirith says, "I just hate masks, pretending to be something I'm not. I mean, did you hear the things I was saying? 'I come before you on this day...' who in their right minds would announce themselves like that? Bloody ridiculous."

"Aye, lass, but it convinced them, didn't it? Now, let's head to where that guard said the Penitus Occu-whatever were set up." Brynjolf says, standing.  
"Penitus Oculatus, dear, and yes, let's head to Dragonbridge." she says, and they head off.

It's only a short walk to Dragonbridge, and when they arrive they decide to ask a guard where to find the Penitus Oculatus headquarters.  
"Excuse me, lad, we're looking for-" Brynjolf starts, but that's as far as he gets before the guard, who doesn't even turn around, cuts him off. "And good luck with that, but I don't care."

A rage overtakes Tirith.

How dare this... this _mortal_ attempt to brush them off like that! She would be teaching him!  
"Stop." she says as he walks away, her voice sounding deadly calm.  
"And who might you be then, girl?" he asks, though his face pales when he recognises the armour she wears.  
"Good gods, I'm... I'm sorry my thane! I didn't know it was you! Please, I ask forgiveness!"

"Lessers do not _ask_ forgiveness." Tirith says coldly, in a voice seemingly not her own. "They beg. Kneel."  
And, even as he protests, the man falls to his knees.  
"Now BEG!" she thunders, her thu'um shaking the earth.

Brynjolf can see, very clearly, that something is wrong with his wife. She doesn't seem her easy-going self. And she'd never normally force someone to submit before her.  
"Lass. Calm down, what do you think you're doin'?" he asks her.  
"I am showing the _joor_ his place. Beneath me. At my feet." her voice echoes strangely, as though it is not just her speaking, but many voices over each other, speaking the same words almost at the same time.

"This isn't you Tirith. Stop this." Brynjolf says, his voice quivering.  
"This is ME. This is who I should be, how I should be! I am the Dragon, and mortals should bow before me!" emerges from Tirith's mouth, though her eyes seem to disagree.  
"Stop this insanity. Now." Brynjolf demands, gripping her arm.

"FUS RO DAH!" she Shouts at him, and he is thrown into a wall, hard.  
He collapses like a puppet with its string cut.

 **Author's Note:** Big milestone here; my first cliffhanger! Thank you everyone who read this and the previous chapters, and thank you greatly everyone who reviewed! Next chapter we'll find out what's wrong with Tirith, and go after the Dark Brotherhood!


	5. Downing the Dark Brotherhood

_Breaking the Brotherhood_

Suddenly she seems to come to herself.  
"Oh Talos... What in Oblivion was that?" she asks, panicking, as she rushes towards her husband.  
She casts as strong a healing spell as she can manage, and his cuts disappear as his eyes flicker open.

"Gods, Bryn, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me. I swear I didn't mean to-" she says, sounding almost hysterical.  
"I know lass," he groans, "I could see you fighting it."

"What in the name of the Ni-Eight Divines is going on here!" demands a man wearing the armour of a high ranking Penitus Oculatus agent.  
Noticing his slight slip-up but ignoring it Brynjolf answers, "My wife and I requested aid from Jarl Elesif, and she advised us to seek out the Penitus Oculatus in Dragonbridge." Brynjolf says quickly.

"I don't care what that woman said! I'm here to ensure the Emperor is secure, you'll not get any help from me with any random-"  
"We killed the leader of the last Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in Tamriel, and want your help with rooting out the rest of them."  
"-errands... You must lie, we've been attempting to track down the leader here for years! Who are you to have succeeded where the best have failed!" the arrogant man says after being interrupted by Tirith.

"I am Dovahkiin." she replies simply, her Thu'um rumbling with power and shaking the ground slightly.

"I see." he says, quickly changing tactics and suddenly a lot more agreeable, "In that case, I would be glad to lend assistance to you. I am Commander Maro, and my men have discovered the sanctuary is west of Falkreath, just off the path. The door will ask you 'What is the music of life?' and will only open if you reply with 'Silence, My Brother'."  
"If you knew that, why haven't you gone in and killed them yet?" Brynjolf asks.  
"They're trained assassins boy! You probably got lucky with your leader, but you'll likely find ten hard-to-beat fighters in there, and they're on their home-turf! Who knows what they have hidden in there!" he blusters, insulted.

"So you were scared." Brynjolf states, and before the commander can reply Tirith joins in, "I've had a sacrament out on me for six years, and in that time I've killed nineteen of your hard-to-beat assassins. I'm not sure what you're going on about, but as long as you help us in there I don't really care."  
Before the man can answer the two head off.

"Bryn, before we go in there I want you to put these on," she says, handing him a pair of boots with shock resistance enchanted on them, "I'm going to lure them out and try a new Shout, and I'm not sure whether you'll be safe or not."  
"What is the Shout then? Can't you just aim away from me?" Brynjolf says worriedly as he puts on his boots.

"You can't aim a storm, can you?"

And with those words she charges off.  
Within moments of opening the door she is greeted by a member of the Brotherhood, but she quickly slices his throat with Dawnbreaker, the flames of the Daedric weapon searing the wound shut before it can bleed much. She makes an effort to make as much noise as possible as she kills another assassin with an ice spike through his skull, before running outside, dragging Brynjolf, who had charged in after her and killed a huge, remarkably hairy looking Nord, along with her.

When it seemed like all the assassins were out of their 'sanctuary', she cast a fireball at the rocks above the door, collapsing them and closing of the entrance.  
"Let's see how this works out!" she says, before unleashing her Shout

"STRUN BAH QO!" she positively roars to the sky, and where there was a blue sky, now there are clouds. Brynjolf muses that it looked like the exact opposite of what she did in the swamps near Morthal, and jumps when lightning strikes one of the assassins.

Nothing is struck but humans. Somehow, the storm is controlled, vaguely aimed. It does not strike trees or rocks, or Tirith, but any other human or elf is fair game. As Brynjolf soon discovers. As he casts his basic healing spell he thanks the Nine that Tirith gave him those boots.

Tirith quickly takes over, and replaces his clumsy healing spell with one that instantly fixes him right up.  
"Sorry about that, I didn't think that the storm would actually affect you. Are you alright?" she asks him.  
"Fine now, thanks, but if you didn't think the storm would hit me, why give me the boots?" her husband replies.  
"Better safe than sorry, no? I wasn't completely sure you'd be unharmed, so this was the best solution."

"Couldn't you just have not used a shout that causes so much collateral damage?" the master thief asks slightly agitatedly, "Then there wouldn't have been any problem at all."  
"Other than the eight assassins, on of whom was a werewolf, another of whom was a very talented Mage, judging by the fact that he was about to cast a Master level shock spell. We're all fine now, but what would have happened if we were fighting those without that storm to help?"  
"I... I see."

"Let's get back to Solitude, to tell the little coward we did his job, and then on to Riften."

Having arrived in Dragonsbridge, after a short detour to Solitude to buy some food and drink, the two met with Maro.  
"Commander! We return with great news!" Tirith announces, back in Dragonborn garb.

"The last of the Dark Brotherhood, worshippers of Sithis, murderers of men and Mer, have been wiped from the face of Tamriel! Dawn's Beauty is no longer marred by their presence! None shall know of their sanctuary, or their hellish practices, and their reign of terror has been ended!" her words are greeted with first silence, before one old man claps. Then another joins. And soon it seems all the village sings their praises, and Brynjolf understands almost entirely why they went through all that extra bother to get the Brotherhood down as well.

"I thank you, on behalf of the Empire, the Emperor, and indeed all peoples of Tamriel, for the great service you have provided. While it pales in comparison to the lives you have saved by stopping this group of murderers, I would offer you these as a reward." and with that he hands them a large sack of septims, which Brynjolf quickly gauges to contain about seven thousand septims, a sword of ebony with the sinister red of a drain life enchantment and another sword, of the same material, seemingly enchanted with both drain life and fire, the lighter and darker reds twirling around the black of the blade.

And now Brynjolf understands entirely why they went through the effort.  
A short walk later, and they're at the Solitude stables, from where they take the carriage to Riften.

 **Author's note: I do apologise greatly for the delay in updating this; I've had the idea for the chapter in my head for ages, but I could never quite get it down right. Tell me if it seems slightly off, since I'm not entirely pleased with it, though I can't quite pinpoint what's wrong.**  
 **On a side note, anyone else see the super blood moon? I actually forgot about it, and just happened to still be up at four in the morning (thank you Internet, for always providing a distraction, be it from school, sleep or sanity) and saw a post about it starting in about fifteen minutes! It did look quite stunning, I'm sure you've seen the pictures by now, but if you haven't done so this time, be sure to see it next time. 2033 is just around the corner after all!**

 **Anyhow, ideas and corrections always welcome, admiration and criticisms always appreciated, and above all; REVIEW! I prefer reviews to favourites and follows because it let's me sort-of gauge whether or not it's being looked at as a potentially interesting story, an actually interesting story, or just a good story.**

 **If you don't like this one, check out my other stories! They're nothing like it!**  
 **If you do like this one, check out my other stories! They're written in a similar style!**  
 **Am I lying? Is it sort-of, vaguely true? Who knows? Check out my other stories to find out! Shameless self-promotion aside, thanks for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoyed it!**


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